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Chapter Text

When Hiccup didn't return from his morning flight with Toothless, Stoick immediately suspected Alvin the Treacherous. The Outcast chief had already kidnapped his son once before, and Stoick knew from experience that it would take more than one defeat to deter his once friend, now enemy.

But Hiccup hadn't been on Outcast Island. And Alvin had all but declared all-out war at the intrusion and accusation.

Stoick was at a loss. Fear and doubt churned inside of him: What if something had happened to Toothless's tail fin? What if they'd gone down? If they had drowned? What if Hiccup was injured, stranded somewhere?

And then, a day later, the twins and Snotlout found Toothless stranded on a tiny island in the middle of open ocean miles from Berk, tail fin perfectly intact, saddle still on — but no sign of Hiccup.

Well. There was one sign, but it hadn't filled Stoick with hope. Quite the opposite. Back on Berk, Stoick had noticed something that the twins and Snotlout had missed: There, barely poking out of the top of the saddle bag, a scroll of parchment. The fear and doubt soured, curdled into stark dread. He had a terrible premonition of what would be on that parchment.

And he had been right — but it had also been worse than he had thought. He had indeed expected a ransom note, but he had not anticipated it being written in Hiccup's own hand. And he never would have expected the note to be from the most notorious tribal chief in the Barbaric Archipelago, one of the few who still had slaves and refused to venture out of the dark ages.

But the ransom note confirmed it: Ug the Uglithug had kidnapped his heir — a common practice in the old days between tribes but virtually nonexistent today — with the declaration that in making peace with the dragons, Berk had betrayed her fellow tribes, that the Uglithug tribe believed Berk was training dragons in order to take over the rest of the archipelago.

Ug's kidnapping of Berk's heir was, according to the ransom note, the Uglithugs' preemptive strike in the war Stoick looked to start. It demanded that Stoick come alone to the meeting place with an exorbitant amount of gold in exchange for his son. Clearly, Ug was trying to scare Stoick away from war and trying to bankrupt him so that he couldn't fund a war at the same time.

Stoick noted with concern the shakiness of Hiccup's normally neat and steady handwriting. Gods, what had Ug done to his son to force him to write this abhorrent message?

Stoick now flew over the island that had been marked on the included map, Toothless warbling anxiously beneath him. It was a small, scrubby spit of land. A ship bearing the Uglithug insignia, a decapitated wild boar's head, was anchored just off shore. Ug himself stood on the rocky beach, his daughter Tantrum — as beautiful as her father was ugly, with flaming red hair, a bored expression, clad in full battle armor — at his side. He saw no sign of Hiccup.

Begrudgingly, Stoick urged Toothless to land in front of the Uglithug chief and his heir. A low growl rose in Toothless's throat as Ug — an enormous slab of Viking with fists like sledgehammers, muscles like tree trunks, and a brutal face, slightly bigger than even Stoick himself and twenty times as cruel — stepped forward.

"Stoick." Beady eyes cut to Toothless as the Berkian chief climbed off of his back. "I told you to come alone."

"I needed a way to get here, didn't I?" Stoick growled. "You left my son's dragon stranded on that island. He can't fly on his own. By the time we found him and discovered your ransom demand, we could not have made the deadline by boat."

Ug grunted. "So the dragon really is as damaged as your kid said? I thought the little runt was lying, trying to save his own skin."

Stoick saw red; his fist clenched around the handle of his axe, but he didn't draw it. "Where is Hiccup?"

Now Tantrum stepped forward, tossing her fiery hair over her shoulder. She was around twenty, if Stoick remembered correctly, and had always been a rebellious spirit. Currently she looked like she wanted to be anywhere else, but she had a duty to her father and tribe. "Did you bring the gold?"

Stoick gritted his teeth and hefted Toothless's saddle bag, filled to the brim with most of Berk's store of gold. It would be a major blow to his tribe to lose so much, but Hiccup was his tribe's future, her only heir. More importantly, he was Stoick's son, his child, and he would do anything, give anything, to get Hiccup back.

He turned back to Ug and Tantrum and flipped the bag open, revealing the contents but keeping a tight hold on the strap. "First, you show me Hiccup."

Ug's eyes slid from the gold to Stoick to Toothless, where they lingered. "How do I know that beast won't kill me the second I bring him out?"

"Because this dragon loves my boy and would not put him in danger. There will be no tricks on our end, Ug, as long as there are none on yours. You give me Hiccup, and Toothless and I will fly away with him, and you can keep your filthy gold." He didn't add that he fully intended on reclaiming his gold in the future.

Then he turned and shouted in the direction of his ship, "Bring out the runt!"

Stoick watched, heart pounding, as the trapdoor on deck swung open and a large Viking emerged, a squirming form slung carelessly over one shoulder. His blood boiled as he watched his son being chucked into a rowboat that was then lowered into the water. He couldn't get a good look at Hiccup's condition from this distance, but the rough way he was being handled spoke volumes.

Toothless's hackles rose and Stoick roared in anger when he caught his first good look at his son. His resolve to make this a peaceful exchange wavered, but he tamped down the blood lust, only because attacking would only put Hiccup in danger, and who knew how many more men were in the belly of that ship.

Stoick watched, outraged, as Hiccup was hauled out of the rowboat and yanked toward Ug. His hands were tied far too tightly in front of him, and he was being pulled around by the short length of rope leading from them, like an animal on a lead. He was gagged, a strip of fabric forced between his teeth and tied cruelly at the back of his head.

Worst of all, his face was a mess of bruises and dried blood. A cut had opened over one eye, both eyes and the bridge of his nose were black and swollen, and his lip was split, and Stoick knew that beneath his clothes were more injuries. His child had been beaten by the monsters. His hair was disheveled and stiff with salt, which meant he'd been underwater at some point, and his face was smudged with dirt. Distinct tear tracks carved through the dirt and blood. Hiccup wasn't crying now, but his eyes were wide with terror, glittering in the early morning sun.

Ug took the rope from the Viking and jerked Hiccup forward. A muffled grunt sounded from behind the gag as Hiccup stumbled; Stoick saw with a fresh wave of fury that his son favored his left leg more than usual. "Here you go, Stoick. One runt, as ordered." Ug leered at Hiccup, who cringed at the insult. Tantrum examined her sharpened fingernails with a long-suffering expression; her apathy to Hiccup's treatment only fueled the flames of Stoick's anger higher.

"How dare you," Stoick growled. Toothless snarled so fiercely that Ug backed up a couple of steps, dragging Hiccup with him.

"Control that animal," Ug barked, giving Hiccup's rope another vicious tug, "or your kid's dead."

Stoick glanced at Toothless. "Settle down, boy," he ordered, even as inside his own chest a fiery storm of pent up ferocity to rival a Typhoomerang's raged. "We are here for Hiccup. Nothing else." Unspoken: We will take our revenge another day.

Ug seemed to have finally realized that he had bitten off more than he could chew. He now appeared to want to make the exchange and get off this godsforsaken spit of land as much as Stoick did. Gloating must have lost his appeal at the combined rage of Hiccup's father and dragon. He shoved the rope to Tantrum, who took it without hesitation. She didn't so much as glance at Hiccup as she began to lead him forward. At least she walked slowly and didn't drag him — Hiccup limped painfully behind her, his steps sluggish.

"You give my daughter the gold, and she gives you the rope," Ug called out from his place safely out of reach of Stoick's weapon and Toothless’s teeth. Odin, Ug was such a coward. Stoick didn't think much of Tantrum, but she was still Ug's daughter. That the man would willingly send his child somewhere he was afraid to go himself made Stoick furious on the girl's behalf.

The exchange, mercifully, went smoothly. Tantrum took the gold, Stoick took Hiccup's rope. The Uglithugs wasted no time clambering into the rowboats and retreating to their ship. Stoick was tempted to have Toothless plasma blast the ship, but his immediate focus was Hiccup. Besides, despite what Ug claimed, Stoick did not actually want a war, so he knew better than to kill the chief and heir of the Uglithug tribe in cold blood as they retreated. No matter how much they deserved it.

Stoick guided a trembling Hiccup to the ground. His son sat gratefully; Toothless immediately curled up behind him and supported his back. Hiccup leaned into the dragon's body and closed his eyes wearily.

Carefully, Stoick sliced through the ropes binding Hiccup's wrists and then through the gag. As soon as the cloth fell away, Hiccup gasped, "D-dad. He's got… he showed m-me. In his mines… pe-people and dragons in ch-chains. Slaves."

Stoick maneuvered himself so that he was sitting against Toothless at Hiccup's side and wrapped a firm arm around his son's small shoulders. Hiccup's teeth chattered, his lips trembled, his whole body quaked — with relief, shock, fear, anger, Stoick wasn't sure. But no matter the reason, it broke his heart.

Toothless keened and began cleaning blood and dirt from Hiccup's face with his tongue. Hiccup twisted in his father's grip so that he could wrap his arms around Toothless's neck.

"I know, son. About the slaves." He hadn't told Hiccup about the Uglithug Slavelands yet. Hadn't had the heart. "It's something I bring up at every Thing, but so far the tribunal hasn't expressly outlawed the trade in the archipelago. Chief Bertha and I suspect that someone on the tribunal is being paid off."

Hiccup took a shuddering breath and scrubbed an arm over his face. "We have to save them."

"And we will," Stoick agreed. "One day. We will find a way. But right now, you are the priority. Are you okay, son?"

That was a stupid question, he knew. Hiccup was moments away from falling to pieces. And why wouldn't he be? He had been kidnapped, separated from his dragon, restrained, and badly beaten. He had spent several days in the hands of one of the most brutal Vikings in the Barbaric Archipelago and had been forced to witness atrocities that Stoick had always tried to shield him from. Thor only knew what else his son had suffered at Ug's hands.

To his surprise, Hiccup answered his question honestly. "N-no. I don't — I don't think so. But I will be. Eventually." He scratched Toothless's chin and the dragon practically melted. Stoick watched them with a small smile, hope burgeoning.

"How bad are your injuries? Can you fly Toothless back?"

Hiccup rubbed at the back of his neck, a self-conscious gesture he'd been doing since childhood. "I don't — I don't think anything's broken. Apparently, I talk too much and need to learn my place. Thus, well—" He gestured to all of him. "This." He sighed wearily. "I want to fly you, bud, I do, b-but I've barely slept. I'm, I'm exhausted and I—"

"Say no more," Stoick interrupted, cutting off what was shaping up to be an impressive bit of rambling. "I'll fly, you can ride in front of me and rest."

Hiccup nodded. "Thanks, Dad."

Stoick stood and helped Hiccup to his feet. As he helped his son climb onto Toothless's back and then clambered on behind him, Hiccup asked, voice small, full of guilt that had no business being there, "But what about the gold?"

Stoick gently pulled Hiccup back against his chest in a one-armed hug. "The gold? It's nothing."

"But—"

"Hiccup. I mean it. I've got you back, son, and that's all that matters." He ruffled Hiccup's hair, engaged Toothless's tail fin. "Now. Let's get you home."

They flew off into what would surely be a glorious morning, clouds white and fluffy, sky painted brightest cerulean. They left the Uglithugs and the ransom and the scrubby little island behind them, but Stoick knew that they were not gone; part of them now resided in Hiccup, would haunt him for months, if not years, to come.

But he would not be alone when he faced those demons. Stoick wouldn't rest until his son felt safe again. That wouldn't be for a long time yet.

For now, he was just grateful to have him back. To be taking him home, where he belonged.

Chapter Text

Not ten minutes after Viggo left to meet a client, Ryker stalked into his brother's tent, eyes gleaming in dark anticipation, and Hiccup, who was already having a terrible day, knew at once that it was about to get much worse.

Hiccup glowered at Ryker as he approached, hoping his anger and defiance masked the panic surging inside of him. He resisted the urge to yank against his bonds — he sat on the floor, his back against one of the tent poles, arms pulled behind the pole and wrists shackled together — and snapped, "Viggo said to leave me alone."

Ryker sneered. "What my brother said was that he won't ransom back to your father damaged." He snorted, clearly not a fan of Viggo's ransom etiquette. "So I won't leave any marks."

Hiccup's gut churned, fear enveloping every nerve, setting every part of him aflame with the need to run. But he couldn't run, couldn't fight, couldn't do anything to stop whatever was going to happen next. Ryker moved behind him, and Hiccup stiffened like he'd crossed paths with a territorial Flightmare as he felt the man's enormous hand clamp around one arm, right above the cuff. Ryker unlocked the manacle with a click, then hauled Hiccup to his feet and relocked it before he could even contemplate fighting back.

"I'm pretty sure Viggo's exact words were, 'Leave the boy alone while I am gone, Ryker. His ransom is worth more than your petty revenge,'" Hiccup pressed as Ryker shoved him out of the tent and into the blazing sunlight. Hiccup squinted, momentarily blinded by the dizzying brightness after so many hours in the dim tent.

"Maybe he said that," Ryker conceded. "But he won't be back for a while yet, and my men are bored. They need enrichment or they start fighting among themselves." He shoved Hiccup forward, toward the edge of the encampment, where a group of Hunters milled about beneath a towering, sprawling oak tree. A knot of dread formed in Hiccup's chest.

"Besides," Ryker continued, punctuating the word with another brutal shove that nearly introduced Hiccup's face to the ground, "what the boss don't know, the boss don't mind."

They reached the group of Hunters far too quickly for Hiccup's liking. "Look what I found, men," Ryker announced, pushing Hiccup to the ground in front of the Dragon Hunters. Eight men, including Ryker, encircled him, all of them at least ten times bigger than Hiccup and each with cruel eyes and expressions ranging from grim excitement to furious hatred.

"For us?" one of the Hunters grinned. "Ryker, you shouldn't have."

"Does Viggo know about this?" another asked, raising his hand as he spoke.

Ryker ignored the question, instead crouching in front of Hiccup. "Rope," he ordered, and a Hunter immediately placed a coil of thick, sturdy rope in Ryker's outstretched hand.

Hiccup tried to scramble backwards but hit the legs of a Hunter behind him. "Stay away from me," Hiccup snarled.

"Someone shut him up," Ryker snapped.

Hiccup opened his mouth to protest and choked instead as the Hunter whose legs he had bumped into leaned over him and forced a length of fabric between his teeth, tying it painfully tight at the back of his head. Hiccup let out a muffled shout, panting too fast through his nose, trying to stave off the waves of panic lapping at his toes.

"That's better," Ryker jeered. "I've been wanting to do that for a long time." He grabbed Hiccup's legs and forced them together, tying them securely above the knees, then tied another length of rope to the bonds. He passed the other end to one of his men, who in turn tossed it over a lower branch on the tall oak tree.

The dread coiling in Hiccup's chest blew itself into a maelstrom, panic pounding into him like great fat raindrops onto a roof, lightning jolting through him with every thundering heartbeat, surging with adrenaline and animal terror, the winds of foreboding beating, beating, beating against his resolve until it all but crumbled. He knew now what was going to happen, and he didn't want — he couldn't — but there was nothing he could do to stop it—

"The rules," Ryker bellowed over the rising chatter of his men. "Viggo does not want a mark on him. So play with him all you want, but no blood, no bruises. Especially his face."

Murmurs of discontent swelled, and for one breathless moment, Hiccup thought that the restrictions had put too much of a damper on their fun and that Ryker would take him back to the tent, but the protests quickly blew over.

"This shouldn't be too hard on you," Ryker mocked, leaning in so close Hiccup could smell his breath — to his surprise, it smelled like peppermint. "After all that dragon flying, you should be at home off the ground." He chuckled and stood up. "Hoist him up!"

Everything happened all too quickly after that: Pain and pressure above his knees as the rope was tugged, his head thudding softly onto the grass, tree roots bumping him, small rocks and twigs catching his clothes and nicking his skin as the Hunter pulled on the rope.

And then he left the ground. Pain screeched through his legs, unfurled in his hips, arced up his back. His heaving chest strained for air at the immediate weight on his lungs; he had to force himself to breathe slowly, deliberately through his nose. Gods, how long would it take for him to suffocate like this? For the weight of his other organs to crush his lungs?

And his head — oh, gods, his head! Hiccup tried to keep his eyes open but he couldn’t; nausea overwhelmed him at the disorienting upside-downness of it all, and if he lost control of his stomach while gagged, well… Suffice it to say, it wouldn't be pretty.

He was used to going upside down briefly when flying Toothless, but there was something markedly different about being hung upside down and dangled over the ground like a butchered animal. All the blood rushed to his head, weighing it down, dizzying him, his pulse thrumming fast, too fast, at his temple—

He swayed lightly. Laughter erupted around him. "Look at 'im!" one man crowed. "Like a fish on a line!"

"Pretty sad catch if you ask me!" Ryker chortled. "I'd throw it back if I were you!"

The Hunters howled, and if the blood wasn't already pooling in Hiccup's head, he knew his face would be burning in humiliation.

Hiccup did his best to focus on his breathing, in and out through his nose, nice and steady, rather than the Hunters' jibes, the pain lancing from his hips to his neck, the millstone that had made itself at home on his lungs, and the sickening lightheadedness. He didn't have much success.

Especially when he felt a large hand on his spine, pushing, and then he was swinging, pressure compounding in his joints, stomach roiling, breath shallow and panicked, head spinning…

Another set of hands found his chest and shoved him the other direction, and the men were laughing, Ryker the hardest of all. He heard more voices, more Hunters gathered around to watch this humiliation. Hiccup bit down on the fabric in his mouth as hard as he could, both in an attempt to quell the rising nausea and to bite back a groan of agony as the motion jarred his aching body.

Shove. "This is for sinking my cousin's ship."

Another push, his body swinging wildly, only to meet another pair of hands. "My buddy Olaf died in that last raid, you one-legged bastard!"

"You're lucky the boss wants you unharmed."

A dark chortle. "We all know why he wants that pretty face untouched. Almost can't say I blame 'im."

A thrill of alarm pulsed through Hiccup at the slimy quality of his tormentor's voice, barely able to understand the implications of his words through the haze of pain, sickness, and breathlessness but knowing instinctively that they were very bad.

"That's too far, Tyrm," Ryker's voice growled, and for a wild second, Hiccup thought Ryker was defending him. But then: "Gossip about your leader won't stand. Do it again and you'll be joining the brat up in this tree."

Come on up, Hiccup thought, near delirious with pain and so disoriented he could barely keep up with the swirling tempest of his thoughts. The more the merrier.

But Tyrm shut up and Hiccup's torment continued. Until—

"You… you crippled, murdering son of a bitch!" a new voice fairly howled, approaching from what Hiccup thought was his right (but could have just as easily been from up above with as addled as his senses were).

A ripple of unease passed over the gathered Hunters, and Hiccup risked opening his eyes just in time to see a great bear of a man storming toward him, and even the inverted world didn't keep Hiccup from clocking the raw rage radiating from him like Zippleback gas.

"Who told Agnar about this?" a Hunter murmured to one of his fellows.

Ryker placed himself firmly between Agnar and Hiccup's lightly swinging form. "Back off, Agnar. Viggo doesn't want him harmed."

"His Night Fury killed my brother!" Agnar snarled. Despite himself, guilt gnawed at Hiccup's insides. He could hear the man's grief in every syllable, melded so completely with his hatred and thirst for vengeance that it was nearly impossible to figure out where one ended and another began.

I'm sorry! Hiccup wanted to cry out. We try not to take lives! Toothless was just defending me!

And then all traces of guilt fled as Agnar side-stepped Ryker and barreled into Hiccup. It was how it must feel to be smashed into by a Catastrophic Quaken, Hiccup thought vaguely, pain building on pain. The force of Agnar's shove sent Hiccup careening, ropes creaking, too fast, right at the tree—

He hit it face-first, and pain exploded at the impact. He heard a crunch, and then blood flooded his nostrils, and now he couldn't breathe — his chest heaved — he choked on blood — gods, he was going to die, upside down, from a broken nose, suffocating on his own blood—

"Shit!" Hiccup couldn't even properly enjoy the panic in Ryker's voice; his vision had begun to flicker at the edges, his chest burned and he couldn't breathe. "Get Agnar under control! And cut the boy down — quick!"

Hiccup distantly felt his body jostle, heard the sawing of a knife against rope above the rushing in his ears. But then, another voice, barely contained fury painting every syllable: "What in the gods' name are you doing?"

Viggo.

The rope snapped, blood gurgled in Hiccup's broken nose as he tried in vain to get a single breath in, the world unraveled around him, darkness creeping in, and the last thing Hiccup saw before that darkness consumed him was Viggo Grimborn leaning over him, grim anger smoldering in his eyes, mouth moving, barking orders Hiccup couldn't hear. Hiccup felt himself being pulled upright, felt his airway clear the tiniest bit, managed a wet, labored breath through his nose and then—

When he woke up, he could breathe again, though it hurt to do so. Hurt his nose, hurt his chest.

Actually, every bit of him ached like he had been beaten. His hips, back, and neck protested even the slightest movement, so Hiccup settled for reaching up, very slowly, and feeling his nose. It felt too big for his face, badly swollen, so much that he couldn't tell if the break had disfigured it.

His feather light touch hurt so much that an involuntary whine escaped his lips. Which was how he realized he was no longer gagged. Had he been rescued? Was he back at the Edge? He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes, to confirm what he already knew.

"Ah. You're awake. How are you feeling, my dear?"

Hiccup's stomach clenched, his heart plummeting, the despair so potent it would have bowled him over had he been upright. Still, he pried his eyes open and turned his head to see Viggo sitting in a chair pulled far too close to his bedside and — oh gods. Was he in Viggo's bed? Pain be damned. Hiccup scrambled upright, heart pounding, panic twisting his insides into knots. He had to get up, had to get out of this bed, out of this tent, out of this camp—

A firm hand found his chest and pushed him down. It lingered, preventing him from rising, and only then did Hiccup realize that he wore only his thin tunic. Someone had taken off his armor! He began to struggle anew, but he had been so weakened by his ordeal that Viggo could easily pin him to the bed with just one hand.

"If you do not lie still, I will not hesitate to restrain you," Viggo said, a sharp edge to his voice.

Hiccup, panic brimming, forced himself to stop fighting. The only thing worse than waking up in Viggo Grimborn's bed was being chained to it. (The Hunter's comment about why Viggo wanted to keep his face intact slid through his mind like a giant, slimy eel.) Once he had settled, Viggo removed his hand and sat back. "How are you feeling?" he repeated calmly.

Hiccup didn't answer. Instead, he demanded, "What happened?"

Viggo sighed deeply; Hiccup couldn't tell if it was an act or if his enemy was truly this disturbed by this turn of events. "My brother thought he and his men could take their revenge and play with you without injuring you." He smiled tightly. "They were wrong. According to my sage, you have a broken nose, bruised ribs, and stretched ligaments and pulled muscles from the strain of being hung upside down by your legs. You nearly suffocated on your own blood."

Hiccup brought a hand up and rubbed his aching chest. "Yeah, I… I remember that." He was too much of a coward to ask about the fate of the man who had nearly killed him. The grief in Agnar's eyes would haunt Hiccup until the day he died.

"So what happens now?" he asked. "You said you won't ransom me back to my father damaged, so does that mean I'm free to go?"

Viggo smiled a smile that unsettled Hiccup to the core. "I'm afraid not. It just means I get to keep you longer as you heal." Hiccup froze, panic turning his blood to ice. "The good news is that your nose will heal normally. No lasting damage. No scars."

The smug satisfaction on Viggo's face and the gleam in his eyes almost made Hiccup wish there had been some lasting damage. Anything to keep Viggo from looking at him like that.

"My friends will find me. They'll come for me. Or I'll escape. Either way, you won't be 'keeping' me for long." Hiccup tried to channel all of his terror into defiance.

Viggo shrugged. "Perhaps." He leaned forward, eyes dark and glittering in the candlelight. "But in the meantime, you are mine."

Chapter Text

Stoick watched his son sleep. Watched his chest rise and fall, rise and fall, marked the steady, even cadence of his breathing.

He had been here before. Less than a year ago, he had sat by this same bedside, watched his son sleep with the same gnawing hole in his chest, prayed the same prayer to any gods who would listen that his child would open his eyes, sit up, smile at him. That the same fire would come back to his eyes.

At his side, Toothless whined, and Stoick automatically leaned down to pat the dragon on the head. Once again, Toothless had saved his son. Stoick would never be able to repay the Night Fury for what he had given him. Like last time, man and dragon waited, and watched, and hoped, and feared. Comforted each other. Kept brave faces when friends and well-wishers came to call.

The last time, Hiccup had slept for nearly two weeks. Gothi said his body needed uninterrupted time to heal from the trauma of losing his leg. Stoick had had no choice but to trust her, but doubt crept in on more than one occasion. Gobber hadn't stayed unconscious that long when he'd lost his limbs, so what if Gothi was wrong? What if he never woke up? What if he stayed like this forever, face blank and empty of everything that made him Hiccup?

Out of control what-ifs could shatter a man's soul as completely as the feared outcome itself. Stoick had languished in his fears and doubts, his regrets and his guilt, the whole time Hiccup had slept.

Gothi had been right, of course. Eventually, Hiccup had woken up. He'd healed, he'd grown stronger, he'd become more confident and had begun to develop into a promising leader. And Stoick had finally been able to breathe again. Eventually, he put the nightmare behind him.

(He tried to put it behind him, but it kept pace with him, always following, always breathing on the back of his neck.)

And yet — here he was again. Watching. Waiting. Praying. Hoping. And this time, he had no idea if Hiccup would wake up. None of them did — not even Gothi.

Because Hiccup, in an effort to protect the dragon that always protected him, had been struck down by lightning, had fallen off of a roof and plummeted into the sea, would have drowned had Toothless not broken free from his chains and dove in after him.

Somehow, Hiccup still breathed after the lightning bolt. Not many people did. Thor's wrath sparked fierce and strong; rarely did it leave a body with life still inside.

Hiccup breathed, but he didn't wake.

It had been four days. Gothi had treated his surface wounds — the strangely beautiful, branching burn marks, like a winter tree reaching for Valhalla, traveling from his left wrist to his shoulder and down his left side. But the healer did not know if Hiccup would wake, did not know if he would be the same if he did wake.

And so Stoick did the only thing he could do: He waited, he watched, he comforted Toothless and received comfort in return. He cried when no one could see him. He hoped and prayed and grieved and feared.

Now he stood, back cramping, muscles aching. Heart breaking, because Hiccup hadn't improved, hadn't shown any signs of life other than the rise and fall of his chest. Toothless gurgled up at him, and Stoick explained, "I have to get out of this room for a bit. It's too — too stifling."

The room, in fact, felt pleasantly cool, but the atmosphere curdled around him, the walls pressed in, the chasm in his chest when he looked at his son made it hard to breathe. He didn't explain all this to Toothless. Instead, he said, "Keep an eye on him while I'm gone, dragon."

He slumped down the stairs, body held down by the iron weights of helplessness, despair, and dread.

.

He found Gobber puttering around in the kitchen, making a cup of tea.

"What are you doing here?"

Gobber snorted. "Nice to see you too, Stoick." He shoved the steaming cup into his friend's hands. "Here. Chamomile. It'll help you relax."

Stoick sank down into his chair and cupped the tea in his hands but did not drink. He drew comfort from the heat of the cup, the way it burned but in a way that felt good, grounding.

"Still no change, I take it?"

Stoick shook his head, too overwhelmed to speak.

"If anyone can make it through this, it'll be Hiccup, just you wait and see," Gobber predicted. "See how well he's doin' after losin' that leg. We both know grown Vikings who didn't handle losin' a limb as well as he did at fifteen. A lightning bolt'll barely slow him down."

Stoick took a sip of the tea, barely tasting it. It burned down his throat and pooled warmly in his stomach. He felt marginally calmer, so he took another sip.

"Gods, Gobber. All I can think about is the last time. Paler than death, empty, still. Hiccup isn't — he's never still, Gobber."

"Oh, I know. Trust me. Tryin' to keep up with that boy is like tryin' to herd a pack of wild Changewings." He paused, then clarified: "Very difficult."

Stoick nodded. "I can't lose him, Gobber."

"I know. And you won't."

The brazen certainty in Gobber's voice made Stoick pause. "How can you be so sure?"

Gobber shrugged. "Because he's Hiccup."

Stoick had to admit his friend had a point. "But Gothi—"

Gobber waved him off. "Take whatever that melodramatic old bat writes with a grain of salt. She doesn't know Hiccup as well as we do."

Stoick placed the half-empty cup on the table and stood. "You're right, Gobber."

"Of course I am."

Together, the two friends ascended the stairs, Stoick in front and Gobber behind. Stoick fully expected to return to the same scene that he had left: Hiccup, pale, limp, lifeless in all but breath. Toothless curled by the bed, a picture of abject misery. No change. The same thing he had been seeing for four days now.

So when he entered the room to find Hiccup not only awake, but sitting up, perched on the edge of the bed and scratching an ecstatically wiggling Toothless under the chin, he thought for a wild moment that he had somehow slipped into a dream while awake.

But no — that was Hiccup, real, solid, awake, alive, himself. Smiling up at him. Dark circles under his eyes, paler than usual, a slight tremor in his hands. But awake. His son had come home.

"My boy! You're all all right!" Stoick all but launched himself at his son, pulled him into his arms, and lifted him into the air. "You took a lightning bolt to the head!"

On Hiccup's face, he saw wonder, confusion. Stoick drank in the sight of him, all gangly limbs and freckles and intelligent green eyes.

Behind him, Gobber whispered, "Told ya so."

And as he embraced his child, reassured him that Toothless would be staying right here, where he belonged, Stoick could barely contain his joy. It burbled up inside him, it calmed the raging storm inside, it overflowed. It spilled through the cracks his fear had made, filled them, mended them. The traces of the cracks still remained — they always would — but he had been made, once again, whole.

Chapter Text

The Edge had been under siege for two weeks. Food and supplies had already been low before the Hunter ships and Dragon Flyers surrounded them, cutting off escape by air and sea.

Every one of the riders' plans to break through the barrier had failed — the combined might of Johann and Viggo's Hunters and Krogan's Flyers had so far proven to be impenetrable. Not even a single T-mail had made it out, and after the last Terror had been shot out of the sky and permanently disabled, Hiccup had refused to try and send any more.

If they didn't find a way past the ring of ships and Singetails soon, the riders would be in serious trouble. They needed medicine, supplies, food staples that they could only get back on Berk or at the Northern Markets.

Worse, their attackers had cut off all access to the water, so fishing had become all but impossible. Their stores had dwindled to nothing, and the dragons — and riders — had been living off wild boar and chicken for the last fortnight. But there were only so many of those on the island, and eventually food would run out. Then they would all starve.

The good news? The Hunters wanted only one thing. If they got it, they would leave the Edge in peace. The bad news? They wanted Hiccup.

Snotlout waited outside of Hiccup's hut, arms crossed over his chest. The moon hung high overhead, bathing Dragon's Edge in silvery light.

Snotlout knew Hiccup would sneak out of his hut tonight. That he would make his way to the eastern beach, signal to Viggo's ship with the Dragon Blade, and then surrender himself to three of his worst and most dangerous enemies, who planned to do Thor-knows-what to him once they had him in their clutches.

The riders — Astrid at the top of the list — had collectively forbidden Hiccup to give himself up. "We're okay for now," they'd told him. "We'll think of something."

But everything they had thought of had failed. A few days ago, Hiccup had been so insistent on giving himself over that Astrid had threatened to lock him in the stables or have Meatlug sit on him if he tried anything. So Hiccup had conceded, locked himself up in his hut to construct yet another escape plan.

But today, everything had changed. Because Astrid had been shot out of the sky. One of Stormfly's wings had been broken, and Astrid had a concussion and a fractured arm. And it could have been so much worse. Next time it might be.

So Snotlout knew that no matter his promises to a half-coherent Astrid that he would stay put, not do anything rash, Hiccup would slip out of his hut with the intention of surrendering himself to the Hunters tonight. Snotlout didn't even know what he planned to do with this knowledge, had no idea what he would do once Hiccup opened that door and stepped out into the night.

The door opened. Hiccup eased out of the hut, stepping so lightly that even his metal leg made no sound on the wood. He turned, saw Snotlout standing a few yards away, and froze.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Hiccup hissed, a slight note of panic in his voice.

"I could ask you the same question. But I don't need to. You're giving yourself up." It wasn't a question.

Hiccup glanced around cautiously, his entire body rigid, shoulders slightly hunched. Then he made his slow, quiet way over to Snotlout and rested a hand on his arm. His fingers trembled, but his voice remained a strong, resolute whisper. "I have no choice. You saw what happened to Astrid. Trying to escape has become too risky. I've got to end this."

"They'll kill you," Snotlout argued, his own voice foreign to him, unsure, unsteady.

Hiccup shrugged, eyes downcast. "Not right away. As soon as the way is clear, you guys can come after me. With any luck, I'll still be alive by the time you find me."

Fury roared through Snotlout. "Are you serious right now?" he hissed incredulously. "Like, do you even hear yourself?"

"Snotlout, I don't have a choice," Hiccup snapped back.

"Oh my gods, I can't believe this!" Snotlout fumed. His voice rose; Hiccup shushed him frantically, eyes darting around to make sure they hadn't been heard. "Why do you always have to be the big hero, Hiccup? For once, can you drop the self-sacrificing shit? For Thor's sake, dude, it's like you want to be captured!"

Now Hiccup looked up, met his cousin's gaze for the first time. Snotlout knew he would never forget what he saw there, on Hiccup's face. Terror. Stark, pungent fear that sapped the color from his face, pressed his lips in a thin line, clenched his jaw, made his eyes much too bright in the soft moonlight.

Gods. Snotlout felt like such an ass. He'd been speaking out of anger, fear, even, and he hadn't stopped to really think about what that tremor in Hiccup's hands meant. Of course Hiccup didn't want to be captured.

Not by Johann, who had pretended to be his friend for over a decade, who had very recently tried to kill Hiccup in cold blood — and damn near succeeded. Not by Krogan, who had kidnapped him and leashed him like an animal (Snotlout still saw those chain-shaped bruises in his nightmares sometimes). And certainly not by Viggo Grimborn, who had gotten under Hiccup's skin more times than he could count, who had captured and tried to kill and put a bounty on Hiccup, who… who looked at Hiccup in this weird, possessive way that Snotlout didn't completely understand but made him supremely uncomfortable.

"You don't have to do this," Snotlout implored, throat dry, voice a hoarse whisper. He realized that he'd never truly appreciated the extent of Hiccup's bravery. Because this wasn't a matter of his not being afraid. On the contrary, Hiccup was terrified, but he planned to surrender himself anyway. For them. For his friends, their dragons.

In that moment, no matter how wrong it felt, Snotlout knew he wouldn't try to stop Hiccup. How could he?

"I'm going with you," he said.

Hiccup shook his head. "No. Too risky. If they see you, they might think it's a trick. They might hurt you, like they did Astrid."

Snotlout rolled his eyes. "Look, man. I'm not gonna stop you. This is your choice. But you can't stop me from coming along. I won't let you do this alone."

They stared at each other in silence, two cousins, one tall and lean, the other short and muscular. Green eyes glaring into blue. Two sets of fists clenched. At last, Hiccup sighed and looked away. "Okay, but once we get to the beach, you have to stay back. Stay hidden. Do not let them see you."

Snotlout nodded. "Okay. Fine. Whatever. But you better not give up on us, Hiccup, because we'll be coming for you."

Hiccup's eyes glittered; fear positively radiated from him. "Okay. I promise." He hesitated, eyes cutting back to his hut. "And you'll make sure Toothless is taken care of? That he knows I did this for him?"

"Duh, we all will."

"Thanks." A beat. "Let's get going, then."

They didn't talk on the trek to the beach. They had nothing more to say. More than once, though, Snotlout found himself glancing over at Hiccup, wondering if he was making the right move here. Hiccup may have been taller than him now, but he still weighed half as much as Snotlout. Surely he could grab his cousin, sling him over his shoulder, and drag him back to his hut?

But Snotlout actually understood why Hiccup had made this choice. And what's more, to his immense surprise, he respected both the choice and the reasons for it. As a leader, Hiccup had a sworn duty to protect his people. All their other plans had fallen apart. Now one of his people, and one of his dragons, had gotten hurt. Always a strategist, Hiccup had looked at this problem from every angle and knew this to be the only way forward, the only way to keep his people safe.

So Snotlout didn't drag Hiccup to safety. He just walked by his side, heart pounding, head spinning, dread pooling in his gut, wondering if he could be brave enough to watch whatever awaited Hiccup when he gave himself up.

"Okay, this is as far as you go," Hiccup said. "Are you sure you won't go back? I don't want you to have to see this."

Hiccup's words echoed Snotlout's own fears, but he steeled his resolve. "No way. I didn't walk all this way in the middle of the night just to turn tail." More seriously: "I'm not going to leave you."

Hiccup nodded. His lower lip trembled slightly, a tear caught at the corner of his eye. "Thank you," he said hoarsely. He held out his left hand. "See you soon?"

Snotlout took it. "You bet your scrawny ass we will." A moment of hesitation, and then Snotlout did something that he'd never done before, something that stemmed solely from the gnawing dread that he might never see his cousin again. He pulled Hiccup to him and crushed him into a hug. After a stunned moment, Hiccup returned the embrace.

"Gods," Snotlout sniffled. "If you die, I swear I'm gonna kill you."

Hiccup pulled away with a slightly manic huff of laughter. "Noted. And Snotlout — no matter what happens, you stay hidden. I will not have someone else get hurt on my account." He sounded so much like his father then, so much raw power and authority thrumming through his voice that Snotlout nearly took a step back. He nodded once, curtly. He would obey. Hiccup had more than earned that from him.

Hiccup squared his shoulders, turned his back, and strode out of the tree line and onto the beach. Snotlout watched him inhale deeply. Exhale. And then Hiccup drew his sword, ignited it, and waved it in the air. From the closest ship came a chorus of cheers and cat-calls. A rowboat splashed into the sea.

Oh gods, oh gods.

Too late to back out now. They were coming for Hiccup.

Viggo personally came to collect Hiccup, flanked by a couple of enormous Dragon Hunters. Seeing Viggo, remembering how the man looked at Hiccup, nearly broke Snotlout's resolve to stay out of this. But he just gritted his teeth and watched with a leaden heart as Hiccup willingly surrendered to his greatest enemy.

"Ah, my dear Hiccup. I am delighted that you have finally seen reason."

Hiccup had his back to Snotlout, but Snotlout didn't have to see his cousin's face to know what Hiccup felt in that moment. Shoulders taut, fists clenched, back ramrod straight. Petrified, but refusing to show it. He knew exactly the expression on Hiccup's face: Green eyes flashing, teeth bared in a defiant snarl, brow furrowed.

"If I surrender, you promise you'll stop the siege? You won't attack the Edge or my friends? You will leave and not come back?"

Viggo flashed a predator's smile. "On my honor as a businessman. If I — if we, I mean to say — have you, then we need nothing else from this island or your friends. We will go in peace."

After a long moment, Hiccup's shoulders deflated. He doused his sword and threw it to the sand at Viggo's feet. "Okay. I surrender."

Viggo's eyes gleamed and he took a step forward. He raised a hand, and for a moment, Snotlout thought he was about to slap Hiccup. Instead, he ran the back of his hand down the side of Hiccup's face, an intimate, possessive gesture that curdled Snotlout's insides. Hiccup's entire body went rigid at the touch. Gods, how could Snotlout let Hiccup go through with this?

"Excellent," Viggo said, his eyes not leaving Hiccup's face. He removed his hand and Hiccup practically wilted in relief. "I accept your surrender. You understand if I still have you bound. You may be docile now in an effort to protect your friends, but I do not trust you to stay that way once we set sail."

"Just do it," Hiccup growled. "Stop dragging this on. I want your filthy boots off my island."

Viggo's blind eye glowed white in the moonlight. His smile glinted whiter, sharper. "As you wish, my dear." To his men: "Take his armor. He has no need for it anymore. Then chain him tightly. And take his leg."

At these orders, Hiccup recoiled and Snotlout nearly burst out of the trees and threw himself at Viggo. But he stayed his hand; outnumbered as he was, with Hiccup in the line of fire, he would get himself and possibly Hiccup killed. But he vowed that when they rescued Hiccup, he would personally be the one to cut down Viggo Grimborn.

"No," Hiccup snapped, backing slowly away as the Hunters advanced. "N-no. That wasn't part of the deal. Stay away from me!"

"I thought this was a surrender?" Viggo mocked. "That you were valiantly sacrificing your freedom for that of your friends? But if you truly care more about your armor and your metal leg than your friends, well…" He trailed off, victory dancing in his eyes. The smug bastard already knew he'd won.

"Okay," Hiccup ground out. "Okay, fine." He held out his hands placatingly. "I surrender." He reached for one of the buckles on his leather armor and, piece by piece, removed it. First the pauldrons, then the hauberk. Viggo even forced him to take off his bracers. With every piece of armor stolen from Hiccup, something in Snotlout withered and died. Rage boiled inside him. Viggo had no reason to take Hiccup's armor other than humiliation.

When Hiccup stood shivering in his thin tunic, Viggo looked him up and down with an appraising expression that made Snotlout's skin crawl. He held out a hand. "Your prosthetic."

"My leg," Hiccup snarled back, "and it isn't yours to take."

Snotlout watched on in horror as one of the Dragon Hunters kicked Hiccup in the back of his legs. Hiccup crashed to his knees. The Hunter who had kicked him drew a pair of heavy manacles from his vest and dragged Hiccup's arms behind him. Snotlout flinched with each click of the locks.

Viggo circled around Hiccup like a cat stalking its prey. "I admit that there is a part of me that enjoys your defiance," he all but purred. "It suits you. But, unfortunately, I no longer work alone, and my new associates will not take kindly to your sharp tongue and refusal to cooperate." He stopped behind Hiccup, who stared straight ahead, unmoving, resolute. Viggo grabbed a fistful of Hiccup's hair and yanked his head back. Hiccup grunted in pain but otherwise didn't react. "So I would learn to curb that smart mouth if I were you."

In response, Hiccup spewed a string of filthy curses that made even Snotlout blush. He'd also never been prouder — who knew Hiccup had that in him?

Viggo shoved Hiccup's head down, hard, then released his hair and stood back. "Take his leg, bind his legs together. And gag him. That is not language appropriate for an heir, my boy. Perhaps I can teach you some manners when we get to base." Behind his back, Hiccup's fists clenched so tightly Snotlout wouldn't be surprised if his fingernails drew blood.

Snotlout watched, helpless to intervene, as one of the Hunters yanked Hiccup's prosthetic off, then produced a strip of cloth from his belt and gagged Hiccup with it, tying it tightly behind his head. Hiccup let out a stream of muffled grunts, and Snotlout could only imagine the obscenities captured by the gag. The other Hunter then shoved Hiccup back into a sitting position, and bound his legs together above and below the knee.

"Ah, I have been dreaming of this day for a long time," Viggo said, kneeling in front of Hiccup and taking his jaw in one hand. Hiccup tried to jerk away, but Viggo held firm and yanked Hiccup's face forward so they were nose to nose. Snotlout could tell even from yards away how much this scared Hiccup; he appeared to be panting through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling far too quickly. "I have been waiting for the day that you are mine."

One of the Hunters raised his hand. "Uh, what about Trader Johann and Krogan, sir?"

Viggo shoved Hiccup's face away and stood abruptly, dusting sand off his legs. "Their interest in Hiccup is what information they can squeeze out of him. I have a more personal interest. They will use him as they see fit. But he will belong to me." Nausea rolled Snotlout's gut. Gods, he shouldn't have let Hiccup go through with this. If he'd have known Viggo was this unhinged…

Hiccup tried to shout something from behind the gag. Viggo put a hand to his ear. "I'm sorry, my dear, but you are going to have to speak up if you have any objections. Enunciate." He waited, mocking. "No? Well, then, we really must be going. And do not worry — by dawn, all of the ships and dragons laying siege to your island will be gone. Your friends will be safe. Our forces will only stay long enough to ensure we get safely away with our prize."

Snotlout bristled. Hiccup wasn't a prize, something to win or lose or parade about as a badge of victory. He was a person, the son of a chief, the heir to a throne, a dragon rider and tamer and the kindest, most forgiving person Snotlout had ever met. How dare Viggo speak about Hiccup as if he were an object, a reward, a treasure to be obtained and hoarded?

This was Hiccup's choice, Snotlout reminded himself grimly, barely able to stop himself from dashing out of his hiding place and trying to fight three against one. Normally he liked those odds, but having an incapacitated Hiccup in the mix made things a hell of lot trickier.

A Hunter threw Hiccup into the rowboat like a sack of wheat; Snotlout winced at the sound of his body smacking into the hard wood and the muffled grunt of pain. As the three men rowed away with their prisoner, Snotlout recounted the entire night in his head and hated himself for everything he could have — should have — done differently.

His last sight of his cousin was a face ghostly pale in the light of the moon, chained and bound with a gag shoved between his teeth and Viggo sitting uncomfortably close to him in the small rowboat.

"I'm coming for you, Hiccup," he vowed. "Just hold on a little longer."

He watched, frozen, as they hauled Hiccup onto the deck of the ship. He watched them carry him below deck, watched the Hunters prepare to set sail. He watched until long after the ship had disappeared over the horizon, feeling as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and thrown into a volcano.

When he finally rose, knees stiff, skin prickled with goose flesh, the first vestiges of sunrise shivered at the horizon and all of the ships and flyers had retreated, leaving the Edge free and clear for the first time in two weeks. And Snotlout had never been more miserable.

He raced to the base, heart flailing madly against his ribs, adrenaline coursing through him, calling, shouting for the others to come, come quick — Hiccup had given himself up, they had to go after him, now.

And Snotlout swore on Thor's hammer itself that he would not rest, would not stop, until he'd brought his cousin back. Back to the Edge, back to Berk, back to the people who loved him. Back to where he belonged.

Chapter Text

Hiccup pressed his back against the far wall of his cell and curled his knees up to his chest. Chains clinked as he rested his forearms on his knees, the manacles on his wrists heavy and cold, even through the fabric of his tunic.

Gods. He could scarcely believe he was here, locked in a tiny, freezing cell on Outcast Island, wrists shackled together and leg gone. It had been taken by Savage, who had found great pleasure in shoving Hiccup to the cold stone floor of the cell and ripping his prosthetic off without bothering to unstrap it properly. Hiccup's stump still throbbed painfully with every heartbeat.

And then, to add insult to injury, Savage had looped a heavy chain through the manacles and attached it to a ring fitted into the floor. Hiccup had just enough slack to lean against the back wall, but not enough to reach any of the walls or the cell door.

Trapped in the dark, in a cell on a hostile island. Soon Alvin would come for him, and then… well, Hiccup couldn't be entirely sure what would happen next, but he knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

Hiccup shifted in discomfort and the chains rattled again. He cringed at the sound, at the feel of them, at their weight. He'd never been chained before. Never been bound in any way, never been kidnapped.

Oh, gods — he had been kidnapped.

The seed of panic lodged in his chest sprouted, bloomed into something darker and deeper and more desperate, something that made his flesh crawl and his lungs constrict and his hands tremble. He didn't — he didn't want to be here, he'd been taken against his will, tricked and betrayed and thrown onto the enemy's ship, carted across treacherous waters by an even more treacherous man. Hiccup's breaths came in short, panting gasps; his pulse thundered against the heavy iron bands clamped tightly around his wrists.

He tried to calm himself, tried to think, but fear had him truly in its maw now, its poisonous fangs digging into his very soul.

With a shout of fear and fury, Hiccup threw himself to the side, lurching against the chain bolting him to the floor. He barely felt the pain as chain pulled taut and the cuffs dug brutally into his wrists. Again, he yanked against the chain, threw his weight around desperately, metal jangling, cuffs jolting and bruising and cutting into his wrists, praying to the gods that he would, even for one second, be granted a share of his father's immense strength. That his fighting and struggling and thrashing would pay off. That the chain would snap, or his manacles would break.

It didn't work. Of course it didn't work.

Hiccup finally slumped back against the wall, breath coming much too quickly, shaking and sweating and terror-fueled adrenaline coursing through his body at Night Fury speed. The damn chain mocked him, chattering incessantly in time with his shivering.

Hiccup hated being trapped. Even before Toothless, before he'd discovered the endless expanse of sky and stars and clouds on the back of a dragon, Hiccup hadn't liked feeling trapped. But now, especially with the knowledge of true freedom, unfettered from the earth itself, confinement of any kind made him feel like something sacred had been stolen from inside of him, and he wanted it back. And this was, by far, the most trapped, the most confined, he'd ever been.

Eventually, though the panic still buzzed inside him like hundreds of angry bees, Hiccup's exhausted body couldn't keep up with the demands of the adrenaline any longer. Fatigue set in, replaced his bones with lead. All at once, the repercussions of his frenzied escape attempt descended upon him, and he couldn't hold back a whimper of pain.

His shoulders and arms ached, ached like an omen of fever. His back hurt, his ribs pinched. But worst of all were his wrists.

Agony encircled each wrist, a symphony of throbbing aches and cutting stings taking his breath away with every beat of his pulse. Perhaps the gods hadn't given him the strength to break out of his chains, but the adrenaline had made him strong enough to inflict painful damage to his wrists from his struggles.

How long he lay there on the hard stone floor, breathing through the pain and tying to work through the panic, he had no idea. It felt like hours. Eventually, he heard footsteps approaching and he somehow found the energy to heave himself into a sitting position. He squared his shoulders, schooled his expression into something he hoped erred toward fearless defiance. No way in Hel would he let Alvin see the extent of his fear.

But Alvin, as it turned out, did not need to gauge Hiccup's fear by his posture or facial expression. Instead, when he and Savage entered his cell, Savage's torch nearly blinding Hiccup after spending so long in semi-darkness, Alvin crouched in front of Hiccup and unlocked the manacles. The looped chain slid free and slumped to the floor with a parade of clinks.

For a few precious seconds, Hiccup's relief outweighed his dread, but the latter came crashing back as Alvin seized Hiccup's forearm in a gigantic hand. Pain lanced down his wrist and to his fingertips, up his arm and to his shoulder. Fear so potent he could taste it coiled within him as Alvin rolled the sleeve of Hiccup's tunic up. On his other side, Savage did the same. His captors forced Hiccup's hands in front of him and took stock of the damage in the flickering torchlight.

Hiccup's stomach squirmed at the sight of his wrists. Now he knew why they hurt so badly: Bruises had already begun to blossom around each wrist, a mottling of red and purple that would surely darken and swell with time. The edges of the cuffs had carved deep indentations into his wrists, the skin around them red and raw and missing several layers of skin. He had no doubt that if he hadn't had the protection of his sleeves, the metal would have bitten deeply into his flesh and drawn blood.

Alvin threw his head back and howled with laughter when he saw the sorry state of Hiccup's wrists, Savage immediately following suit like the sniveling dog he was. A deep discomfort gnawed at Hiccup's gut at their amusement, and he tried to wrench his wrists from their grasp — which only served to send more pain streaking through his arms. He gasped in pain, and his tormentors laughed harder.

When his guffaws had dwindled to dark chuckles, Alvin said, "You put on a brave face, I'll give you that, boy. But the state of your wrists show how scared you really are."

Hiccup's stomach churned but he forced himself to meet Alvin's eyes. "So I tried to escape. Doesn't mean I'm scared. If anything, it means I have a healthy sense of self-preservation."

Alvin chortled, shifting his grip to squeeze Hiccup's battered wrist. A choked whine burst unbidden from Hiccup's mouth; it hurt so much he couldn't even find the will to be embarrassed.

Alvin relieved the pressure after a moment that felt like days, but pain still raged unchecked in Hiccup's wrist. "This isn't the mark of a calm man, 'iccup. People don't hurt themselves like this tryin' to escape if they're not scared shitless." He leered at Hiccup. "Trust me, boy — I know what I'm talkin' about." He didn't explain how he knew, and Hiccup didn't ask.

Instead, Hiccup thrust his chin high, refusing to be cowed. So what if Alvin knew he was afraid? Hiccup could be brave despite his fear. He wouldn't let Alvin win.

Alvin finally released Hiccup's arm. "You ready to train my dragons yet, boy?"

Hiccup shook his head. "Not even close."

Alvin shook his head slowly in a parody of regret. "Well, then, I s'pose I should give you a little more time alone to think about it." To Savage, "Chain him up again."

Another wave of panic washed over Hiccup, and he struggled frantically as Savage locked one of the cuffs back around his wrists. The weight of the metal on his developing bruises, especially after his short reprieve, hurt so much that tears sprang to to Hiccup's eyes.

"Can you — just, leave the manacles off?" he gasped, the thought of being restrained again enough to rekindle the smoldering embers of senseless panic. By sheer force of will, Hiccup kept himself from succumbing to the fear entirely.

"Not comfy enough for Berk's precious heir?" Savage mocked.

Hiccup bristled. "I'm down a leg and and I'm locked in a cell. Chaining me is a tad overkill, don't you think?"

Alvin sneered and locked the other cuff tight around Hiccup's other wrist; a shudder rippled through Hiccup at the click of the lock. Savage looped the chain back through Hiccup's manacles and reattached it to the floor.

"Maybe it's a little overkill," the Outcast chief conceded, causing a little bubble of hope to rise in Hiccup's chest. A bubble that promptly disintegrated when Alvin added, "Might be useful for loosenin' that tongue of yours though." His eyes glittered darkly as he stood and led Savage out of the cell. The door slammed behind them, and Hiccup only just kept himself from flinching at the finality of the lock engaging. "Think about it, 'iccup. You could be back with your dragon, training my dragons. No chains. No manacles. You just have to agree to work for me."

Hiccup forced down the fear and snapped, "Not interested. The benefits here stink."

"Make your jokes, runt," Alvin snarled, slamming a mammoth fist into the bars. Hiccup jolted in surprise and glared as Alvin chuckled. "We'll be back in a couple of hours. If your answer doesn't change, maybe we'll try something new. How's about hangin' you by your wrists from the ceiling? That sound fun?"

Cold dread turned Hiccup's blood to ice but he somehow managed to snarl, "Go to Hel."

Alvin grinned wickedly. "If you don't agree to train me dragons, that's exactly where I'll be sending you and your Night Fury."

Hiccup held himself together until his captors' footsteps faded completely and a door far down the hall slammed. Only then did he allow the horror to wash over him.

He wanted Toothless. He wanted his friends. He wanted his dad. He wanted the chains gone and his leg back. He wanted to go home.

Surely his friends would be looking for him by now. They'd find him. They'd bust him out of this dirty cell and shatter the chain holding him here. Together they'd find Toothless and leave this godsforsaken island behind them.

He just prayed they did all this before Alvin came back. Because, gods, Alvin was going string him up by his wrists and torture him until Hiccup agreed to train his dragons. And Hiccup wanted to be strong, to hold out, to be brave and defiant and to refuse to cave, no matter what Alvin put him through. He was a dragon rider, for Thor's sake, heir to Berk's throne and leader of the Dragon Academy. He'd faced a dragon the size of a mountain and won! He should be able to take whatever Alvin doled out, to stay strong until his friends came or he found a way to escape.

But Hiccup was also fifteen years old, chained in a cage about to be tortured. Kidnapped, far from his home in the heart of hostile territory, wrists a mess of pain and bruises. Dragons, he was used to. But cruel men willing to do anything to break him, wanting only to take what he refused to give? These were uncharted waters, leaving Hiccup floundering far out of his depth.

Even so, he steeled himself as best he could, took slow, controlled breaths, gritted his teeth against the agony ravaging his wrists, and forced himself to remain as still as possible as his resolve faltered with every clink of the chains.

He prayed to the gods that the next faces he's see would be his friends', here to rescue him, and not his captors', here to torture him. But if Alvin returned before his friends found him, Hiccup would give him one hell of a fight. Even sick with terror, wrists screaming with pain, body shivering uncontrollably, Hiccup wouldn't give in. He couldn't.

He would protect his people, his dragon, and his home with his life. He would hang by his wrists all night if it kept the Outcasts off the backs of dragons, if it kept those he loved safe. And if something inside him broke in the process, well, he had faith that when rescue did arrive, his friends, his father, and Toothless would be able to piece him back together again.